[ Verso's lips brush over his hand, and for a moment he's back there in the opera house, befuddled and on the back foot, wholly unprepared for the way a mysterious piano player charmed him so easily and so quickly.
And maybe he can understand it, a little. He, too, had wanted to keep this, keep Verso, something sweet and separate from his real life, from the reality of the coming Expedition, the Gommage. Gustave leans his head against Verso's, breathing in the scent of him, trying to memorize the feel of him in his arms. ]
Whatever else, whoever else you are, you're still mon Monsieur le pianiste. And if you'll play for me again...
[ He frowns, a little, some half-unheard memory whispering in his head. I will play for you again, if only you will bring me flowers. It's nothing Verso has actually said to him, not today and not back then in the garden, so why can he hear it, why does it sound so familiar?
How he would love to hear Verso play again, to watch those clever fingers of his move so gracefully over the keys, coaxing the most beautiful sounds from them. He's longed for it, listened to so many records of piano concertos before they left that Maelle complained about his new and terrible taste in music.
They were all masters of the form, but none of them had been Verso. ]
...I will still bring you flowers.
[ A little shake of his head, trying to clear from it the strange not-a-memory, and he gives Verso a small, rueful smile, his thumb running over his knuckles in a light caress. ]
I've been selfish, too. I wanted to keep you only for myself.
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Date: 2025-06-07 01:26 am (UTC)And maybe he can understand it, a little. He, too, had wanted to keep this, keep Verso, something sweet and separate from his real life, from the reality of the coming Expedition, the Gommage. Gustave leans his head against Verso's, breathing in the scent of him, trying to memorize the feel of him in his arms. ]
Whatever else, whoever else you are, you're still mon Monsieur le pianiste. And if you'll play for me again...
[ He frowns, a little, some half-unheard memory whispering in his head. I will play for you again, if only you will bring me flowers. It's nothing Verso has actually said to him, not today and not back then in the garden, so why can he hear it, why does it sound so familiar?
How he would love to hear Verso play again, to watch those clever fingers of his move so gracefully over the keys, coaxing the most beautiful sounds from them. He's longed for it, listened to so many records of piano concertos before they left that Maelle complained about his new and terrible taste in music.
They were all masters of the form, but none of them had been Verso. ]
...I will still bring you flowers.
[ A little shake of his head, trying to clear from it the strange not-a-memory, and he gives Verso a small, rueful smile, his thumb running over his knuckles in a light caress. ]
I've been selfish, too. I wanted to keep you only for myself.